Shattered Glass
by LitRaptor42
Summary: Phoenix takes a lot of crap from his friends: he gets teased, slapped, abused, and finagled out of money. But this time, it went too far, and he gets hurt. Phoenix/Edgeworth and Maya, in response to a prompt on the kink meme.
1. Foreshadowing

This was, as mentioned in the description, a fill for the kink meme. Here's the original request:

"I have noticed that Phoenix takes a lot of shit from all the other characters. I mean, ALL of the crew make fun of him at some point, he doesn't get paid and has to put up with all the craziness of the Feys, the witnesses and so on.

So, maybe a lot of that is just fun and joke, but I want something different:

I want that they finally cross the line and Phoenix gets seriously hurt. Physically or emotionally, I don't care, but it has to be clear, that he's hurt. A lot. (Not death, please, just hurt)

Maybe someone said something that is just under the line, maybe a joke goes out of hand, maybe Maya took a lot of money from Phoenix which he actually really needed, maybe Edgeworth does something stupid, or it's a combination of things.

And I want them all to realized that they were indeed very cruel to Phoenix. So, they have to make up. Comfort for the poor attorney!

(P/E is love, but when you're not ok with it there hasn't to be any pairing. But please no P/M)."

So here it is.

* * *

_~ Shattered Glass_ ~

* * *

Miles Edgeworth thought he had felt guilt before. Alone amongst the other children at the orphanage, he had felt responsible for his father's death: later in life, when the nightmare had been proven false, even then he had harbored some irrational belief that even just throwing the gun, summoning someone to kill his father, had been his fault.

Then there had been Franziska. In a way, he had been responsible for her father's death, too: that guilt still wracked him sometimes. He had never loved von Karma like she had. Even now, when she seemed happiest, his conscience ached for how lonely she was.

But nothing could compare to this. Absolutely nothing.

Edgeworth looked through the glass, wanting to scream and smash it into slivers. Beyond lay the unconscious figure of a companion, a valuable courtroom ally and a fiercely devoted friend. Edgeworth could hardly see his face and distinctive spiked hair for all the wires and snaked plastic tubing. Hospitals were the worst place to find a friend: they made people unrecognizable.

And Edgeworth had put him there.

He tapped a fist softly against the glass, cursing under his breath. How could he have been so careless, so stupid? Everything had gotten so out of control... and Wright was now paying a heavy penalty for something so simple, something everyone teased him about.

* * *

Everyone knew that Wright trusted everyone. From the killer girlfriends who tried to take his life, to erstwhile childhood friends, to complete strangers on the street... Wright trusted in the goodness of people.

"Someday that's going to get you into trouble, Nick," Maya had announced cheerfully, as the three of them dug into a large anchovy pizza. She ripped a piece from the pie and took a huge bite. "Y'know, shom p'ple jush aren't nishe."

Edgeworth reached forward silently, using the serving wedge rather than his fingers, sliding a slice onto his plate. Wright caught his eye, and Edgeworth flicked an eyebrow. _She's right, you know_.

"I know, Maya," Wright said mildly, turning his eyes to the pizza. "I can't help it, though. People are inherently good: they just become bad after years and years of sadness, or from other people being mean to them. I think everyone should get a second chance."

Edgeworth felt his cheeks burn. Wright was just innocently talking, expressing his opinion: but Edgeworth knew better than most people just how far Wright would go in order to show he trusted someone. Choosing his career to save a childhood friend he'd only known for nine months, for instance.

Maya chewed ferociously and swallowed. "So if someone walked up to you on the street and asked for twenty bucks, what would you do?" She took another monstrous bite: sometimes Edgeworth, neatly cutting with fork and knife, wondered how she didn't choke.

"Um... what do they say they want the twenty bucks for?" Wright asked. Edgeworth got the feeling the two of them played this game a lot. It was often how dinners went when he tagged along: Wright and Maya made fun of each other non-stop for an hour, while he watched on in amusement. He only occasionally chimed in.

"I dunno. For gas. _My mom's sick, I need to get to Burbank tonight, but I forgot my wallet!_" Maya's voice became rough and low as she mimicked what was apparently a disreputable man. "How about that? Would you believe he really wanted to buy gas?"

Now it was Wright's turn to blush. "Um," he said, and took a bite of pizza.

"You didn't," Maya said, horror-struck. "Nick, did you actually give some guy on the street money because he said he needed gas?"

Wright glared at her. "Look, how was I supposed to know? He looked—"

"Is that how you got your wallet stolen that time?" Maya interrupted. Wright didn't even have to answer this time: the explosion of red across his cheeks told everything. "Oh, my gosh, Nick. What if he'd shot you or something?"

"Why on earth would he shoot me?" Wright demanded, throwing down his half-slice of pizza. He sighed, looking mournfully down into his plate. "I handed him a twenty and he snatched my wallet out of my hand and ran. That's all there was to it."

"Maybe you should just learn to run faster," Edgeworth said drily. Wright shot him an even look; Edgeworth innocently took a bite of pizza.

Maya giggled. "Yeah, if you're going to be so trusting, you should at least be able to catch muggers, and run away from people who hold a gun to your head, Nick!"

The conversation had gone on; Edgeworth had continued to listen as Maya berated her sort-of law partner and best friend. He had felt no premonition from Maya's words, and had taken no warning.


	2. Betrayed

A week or two passed after that fateful talk. Edgeworth had been working late on a Friday—what else was he supposed to do in the middle of a trial?—and the phone had rung. He'd looked down at the display: it was Wright's work number. Edgeworth sighed in annoyance, but picked it up. "Yes? Please keep it brief, Wright, I'm busy.""

"So, um," said Wright's voice, sounding nervous as hell. "Edgeworth. I didn't really know who else to call."

This was already starting off badly: it sounded like the beginning of a long confession about a screwup at trial, or something personal about missing Maya. He raised a hand to his temples, sighing. "About what?"

"Well, you see, there's a guy here..." Edgeworth heard Wright swallowing on the other end of the line. "He wanted me to call someone who could help him. And I know you could, right?"

"Help him with what?" Edgeworth asked irritably. "Wright, I don't have time for this."

There was a silence. He heard Wright talking to someone else; then there was a whisper. "Miles... Miles, he's got a gun." Then, in a louder voice, "I really want to trust this guy, he seems like he's really in trouble. He got arrested, he's on the run, but he didn't do it. That's why I let him into the office. And he needs your help, he said I could have one phone call."

That was enough. Edgeworth had been working for fifteen hours straight, and had a pre-trial hearing in the morning for which he still had to finish paperwork. "Wright," he snapped, "this isn't funny. I remember it being hilarious when Maya said it at the pizza parlor, but this late at night while I'm at work, I'm not amused."

"But I'm not joking," said Wright's voice, pleadingly. Edgeworth detected a tremor, and mistakenly thought it was laughter.

Furiously, he answered, "Then tell him you trust him. That you know he didn't do it. But guess what, Wright? I don't trust him. Nor do I trust your judgment, calling me like this."

"Wait!" Wright protested. "Please, please don't hang up, Miles!" Edgeworth was already reaching out to replace the receiver, and the sound of his name being called over the line was faint.

Just before it reached the cradle, a loud _crack_ rang out from the receiver. It clattered to the desk.

* * *

So now he stood in the hospital, grieving and guilt-ridden and miserable. Edgeworth hadn't even called Maya to tell her yet: she was back in Kurain, and no one would think to call her but him. He hated himself for not doing so. Unless he could summon the courage to tell her that he'd gotten their best friend, the man he loved, shot... Edgeworth was alone.

That was the worst part.

"Sir?" came a light voice. He turned to see one of the ICU nurses. "Sir, I know we said no visitors, but..." She smiled. "Well, let's just say we admire you, for all the work you do in our city, Mr. Edgeworth. And you won't disturb anything, right?"

Edgeworth felt the breath catch in his throat. "No," he said quietly. "No, of course not."

She didn't say anything else, just extended a hand toward the room. Edgeworth stepped forward; it had been a long time since anyone he'd known had been in the hospital, and just being in the place made his skin crawl.

"I'll come back soon," the nurse said, and left him alone. The glass door hissed shut behind her.

There was almost no one else in the hospital; it was almost three in the morning. Wright had made it alive through the surgery, but the doctor had said his ever seeing dawn was questionable. Edgeworth wanted to cry, but there was nothing: nothing but the heavy guilt.

He suddenly felt as if he had to say something: that if the silence of the room, interrupted only by soft beeping and hissing, went on any longer, he would go mad. "I—I'm so sorry," he blurted out softly.

Wright's hand was lying at his side, one finger clipped to the heart monitor. Edgeworth reached out and took it. "We made fun of you for trusting everyone. And now you're here, because I didn't trust you." They had held hands before, and Wright's fingers had never been so cold.

Edgeworth couldn't go on for a moment. He looked up at the monitors, then down at Wright's face. Half was obscured by the oxygen mask, but those long-lashed eyes and placid brows were still visible, uncaring and dreamy. Edgeworth reached out with his other hand, touched his friend's forehead.

"And I know I could say I'll get him, that I'll find him guilty in court." Edgeworth swallowed; he never would have been able to say these words to a conscious person. Alone in this darkened room, though, allowed him to say exactly what was in his heart. "But that wouldn't make a damn difference, especially since that's what I do for a living anyway. And if you don't live, Phoenix... I—I know it's my fault you're here, that all I had to do was trust you, but please... oh please, God..."

He saw that his fingers were trembling, and snatched them away before he could do any damage, crossing his arms tightly. Edgeworth took a deep breath, wanting to take a running jump out a high window, but there wasn't one nearby. He wanted to kiss the man in front of him, but couldn't even get near his lips. Wright had been shot in the chest: he wasn't breathing on his own, and if he were awake he would be in terrible pain.

A sudden urge to kneel on the floor and pray for forgiveness raced through Edgeworth's heart; but he resisted, standing as stiffly and awkwardly as he'd stood at the defendant's bench in court. _Oh, God_, he thought miserably. _It's time to call Maya_.


	3. Confession and Dawn

Dawn was just breaking over the City of Angels when the detective arrived. Edgeworth was still standing outside the hospital room, but now he was watching Maya. The light streamed through the open windows, bright and pathetically chipper. Edgeworth had never seen such a beautiful sunrise: orange fading into purple, streaked with a distinctive cheerful pink, the same pink as Wright's favorite tie.

Edgeworth heard Gumshoe's footsteps coming down the hallway, and the detective skidded to a halt next to him. "Came as... fast as I could... Mr. Edgeworth," he panted, and straightened up. He seemed about to add something else, but stopped as Maya shifted, talking inaudibly in the room. "Oh good, Maya's here."

"Yes, she hasn't been here long," Edgeworth murmured. He hadn't even known an early express train came from Kurain; Maya had gotten to the hospital around six o'clock, and had barely managed to say a word to him before ducking into the room, gluing herself to the side of the bed. Edgeworth had spoken to the nurses on her behalf, saying she was Wright's foster sister. It was more or less true, after all.

Gumshoe's face was sunken in misery, his shoulders slumped; it was the same expression he'd worn throughout most of Edgeworth's stint as a defendant. "Gee, poor Mr. Wright. What happened? Do you know?"

Leave it to Gumshoe to dredge up the subject Edgeworth wanted to discuss the least. He swallowed, knowing that eventually he would have to tell both the detective and Maya why Wright had been shot in the first place. "Yes. He, er... let someone into the office who was on the run from the police. The man was armed, and when he realized that Wright couldn't help him..."

It was a cop-out, and he knew it, his stomach twisting in a knot. But Gumshoe, bless his gigantic, good-natured heart, didn't notice, and didn't inquire further. "Well, that's real nice, pal," he said, fuming at no one in particular. "Mr. Wright was probably doing his best to help, too! Have we caught the jerk yet, Mr. Edgeworth?"

Edgeworth forced himself to shake his head, calmly. "No. We have fingerprint identification, but he's still running, armed and dangerous."

Gumshoe made the closest noise to a snarl that Edgeworth had ever heard, and was silent. They both stood, watching Maya. She'd been talking to Wright nonstop since she'd arrived, every once in awhile reaching up to smooth his hair, or rub his shoulder encouragingly. It was enough to break your heart.

Suddenly her head bowed, her topknot drooping discernibly. Edgeworth couldn't tell if she was still talking: but after a moment her shoulders began to shake. He couldn't move: he should go in to comfort her, but his body had frozen.

He'd never been so happy to have the detective with him, as he was in the next moment. "Oh, no," said Gumshoe. Without another word, the detective went into the room, and put his arm around Maya's shoulders.

She looked up: words were exchanged that Edgeworth couldn't make out. Gumshoe tugged her upright, and she fell against him, to be helplessly led out of the room.

Strangely enough, when Maya came through the doorway, she looked up at Edgeworth with streaming eyes, and leapt away from the detective, throwing her arms tightly around him and pressing her face to his vest. Hesitantly, he put his arms around her. After a moment, it felt right, although the guilt at being the one to comfort her was electric.

"I'm so sorry, Maya," he finally said, as she sobbed uncontrollably. "But you know he'll be all right. Remember Eagle River? He fell off a forty-foot cliff and emerged with nothing but a cold."

It was hard to tell, but Edgeworth thought that between the sobs, Maya managed to say, "I know." And of course she knew. Even if Edgeworth had been slowly building a relationship of sorts with Wright, Maya would always have the upper hand. Except for when she was in Kurain, the two of them were inseparable: she even stayed in his apartment, exactly as a little sister would.

"Maya," he said suddenly, knowing he had to tell her. "Maya, I need to say something. Can you listen for a minute?"

She looked up, sniffling, eyes red-ringed. Momentarily she moved back, hugging herself with her arms. "Y-yes," she managed to say, and took a deep breath, bravely drawing up her chin. Edgeworth was filled with admiration. "W-what is it?"

It didn't escape him that he wasn't upset or nervous so much as abjectly frightened. He knew Maya would be angry, and was past the point of trying to convince her not to hate him, but the thought of it still sickened him. "This..." he faltered for a moment, then plunged in. "He called me, Maya. That's how the police and the ambulance got there so fast. The shooter let him have one phone call, and he called me for help. I thought it was a joke until I heard the gunshot."

There was nothing else: nothing she couldn't infer from what he'd already said, anyway. Edgeworth looked through the window at Wright, his chest rising and falling regularly, but not of his own accord. He added softly, "If he dies, I murdered him myself."

There was a long silence. He finally glanced over at Maya; her face was turned down to the floor, her eyes squeezed shut in what looked like pain. Gumshoe was just staring, his mouth actually hanging open.

Just when Edgeworth thought he might actually have to say something to break the stillness, Maya spoke. "But—but you didn't do it on _purpose_," she said tearfully. "Right?"

"G-good God, of course not!" Edgeworth said, gasping a little. "I can't—I can't say it wasn't my fault, but... it was a mistake." He swallowed. "It was a stupid, irresponsible mistake that no good friend would make. But it was mine."

To his astonishment, Maya reached out and grasped his hand in both of hers, trembling and doe-eyed. "And you're here now," she said softly. "Don't blame yourself just because—"

Now it was her turn to stare into the room at Wright, brown eyes filling with tears again. She bit her lip, started to say something, then hesitated again. Eventually she said, "You can't blame all of this on yourself just because Nick trusts everyone. It's no wonder you thought he was joking, Miles."

It was such a serious statement that, coming from Maya, it almost sounded precocious. Especially since she'd called him _Miles_: she always seemed hesitant to do so, probably because he and Wright consistently referred to one another by their surnames. But worst of all, it was exactly the thought Edgeworth had been trying to repress for the last several hours: the horrible wish to let Wright shoulder at least some of the blame.

At the same time, he moved forward to embrace her as she put her arms around him again; Edgeworth put his cheek to the top of her head, a rush of pity and sickness washing over him again. For a few minutes, the three of them just stood there, stricken with grief. Then Edgeworth glanced into the room, and almost jumped out of his skin.

"What? What is it?" Maya asked immediately. Then she followed his gaze and sucked in a breath of shock. In tandem, they broke apart and hurried into the room.

Wright's lashes fluttered, his eyes visible for a moment as they dashed to the side of the bed. Edgeworth stood behind Maya as she took Wright's hand in both of hers. "Nick?" she asked in a trembling voice. "N-Nick, we're here... Maya, and Miles, and Detective Gumshoe." Edgeworth couldn't see her face, but he sensed from her voice that she was trying to smile.

Wright's eyes opened ever so slightly, just enough to show the glint of irises. He looked up at them, and Edgeworth felt the dread in his heart lessening somewhat as Wright recognized them. "Hey, Nick," Maya said softly, almost sobbing out the words. "Please don't worry about talking or anything, we just wanted to come in and say Hi." Her small hand rose up again, laid itself softly on his forehead.

Edgeworth thought he was mistaken: the oxygen mask and breathing hoses underneath obscured Wright's face. But when Maya giggled a little hysterically he knew he wasn't just imagining it. Wright had smiled, ever so faintly, his eyes closed again.

"Go ahead and go back to sleep if you can, Nick," Maya said finally, sniffling back the last of her tears. "We'll be here."

There was a hiss as the door opened behind them, and a nurse came in. "Hey," he said angrily, "we only let you guys in because you pulled rank, but three people is too much. Out. Now." He came forward and began fiddling with the instruments, and whipped out a clipboard. Pausing, he looked at them again. "Out!"

Gumshoe obediently followed orders, but Maya leaned forward and kissed Wright's forehead. "We'll be here," she told him, and left the room holding Edgeworth's hand.


	4. Contrition

A/N. Edited because Phoenix has _brown_ eyes. Derp derp derp.

* * *

The next time the phone rang, Edgeworth snatched it up, cramming it between his ear and shoulder as he tried to sort statutes from the large stack of sources in front of him. "Edgeworth speaking."

"Mr. Edgeworth?" The voice was high, gleeful, and female. He felt his nerves begin singing like live wires at the sound of it. "It's me, M... Miles. I said I'd call you when we got him home."

The papers spilled from his hands, scattering out of their folder across the desk. "Yes?" Edgeworth asked, breathlessly, half-rising. "Yes, can I...?"

"Yeah!" said Maya cheerfully. "Yeah, we're just kind of hanging out watching TV, so anytime you want to come over is fine."

It took him five minutes to get to his car, another agonizing twenty minutes to cross town. Edgeworth rarely rushed anywhere—in fact, he considered it unprofessional to do anything hurriedly. But now he clenched his fists on the steering wheel, glaring daggers at the traffic: why were they all moving so slowly?

The door to Wright's apartment was unlocked, but Edgeworth knocked, the door swinging open to the tap of his knuckles. "Hello?" he called out, stomach roiling.

"Come on in," was the answer—but not in Maya's voice. Edgeworth froze momentarily, then took a deep breath and walked into the living room.

Wright looked up from the sofa, and in the friendly, open expression that always made Edgeworth's knees go a little weak, smiled. "Hey, Miles. It was nice of you to come over. I'm sure you're really busy."

There had been no emphasis, no sarcasm in the words: but they bit into Edgeworth's heart, throwing him back to the memory of that disastrous phone conversation. "Yes. But... but I had to come." That wasn't what he'd meant to say at all, and Edgeworth amended, "Er... rather... work is... work is unimportant. In comparison."

He'd reached Wright's side. The TV was turned to mute, but Edgeworth could see what was playing: the Steel Samurai. Natch. "Thanks," said Wright, simply. "Sit down and join. That is, if you're going to stay awhile."

Edgeworth did as instructed, sitting on the edge of the sofa, as far away as seemed inoffensive; the apartment, as usual, was a wreck. He looked around wildly, searching for something, anything to dispel the silence. Wright's eyes were absently fixed on the television: obviously he was too tired to talk much. He was stretched out, skinny legs up on the ottoman and eyes half-glazed in what seemed like exhaustion.

"Er... where's Maya?" Edgeworth finally ventured.

"She ran out to get some food, I think," was the answer. Wright yawned cavernously, and rubbed a hand over his stubbled face, glancing over with a smile. "I'm sort of out of it, in case you haven't noticed," he admitted. "I'm sure she told me where she was going, but... I suppose we're alone, for now."

Edgeworth kept himself from wincing; probably his friend wasn't tired, so much as heavily medicated for the pain. Nevertheless, this time there _had_ been emphasis in his words. And now Wright was looking at him, guileless brown eyes holding some kind of question. So many words trembled on the tip of his tongue: to blurt out the apology he'd already given when Wright was unconscious? To start out with something easier?

"I—" he said, and found his voice shaking. "I'm just so glad you're... that you're all right." It came out very stilted and formal, and Edgeworth hated himself.

"Well, me too," was the response, accompanied by the same faint smile as before. "Thanks, though."

It hadn't been accusatory in the least, but Edgeworth felt something curling up inside him. At last, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said it. "Phoenix, I'm... I'm so sorry."

There. It was out. He opened his eyes, and saw Wright watching him very seriously. The words spilled forth, and he shifted closer on the sofa: perhaps it was just as well that Maya wasn't there. "I should have listened, should have trusted you. You—you could have _died_..."

Wright reached out and took his hand gently: not to stop him, though. Edgeworth took another breath to regain his composure, and finished. "Anyway... I just... I just can't further express my shame. I don't know if there is any way I can ever earn _your_ trust again."

"Don't be stupid," Wright said, but with a laugh. "I still trust you, Miles. It was half my stupid fault, anyway, right? If I'd just been like you and Maya said, if I hadn't let that guy into the office in the first place..."

"No one should ever have to pay for having faith in the goodness of people," Edgeworth said stiffly. "But for my impatience and distrust, your pain could have been avoided."

They were both silent for a minute; the action stars dashed and fought across the screen, as both of them sat unmoving, hands still linked. "Well," Wright finally said with a sigh, "I disagree, but I'll let it slide. And I really do appreciate that you'd take the blame." He shrugged, then winced, raising a hand to his chest. "Ow."

Edgeworth couldn't stop himself: he reached over, placing his hand lightly over Wright's. "Are you... are you still in much pain?"

Wright shrugged again, and winced harder this time, leaning forward. "Ow. Dammit!" He grinned wanly at Edgeworth. "No, normally, when I'm slobbing about like this, I'm just tired. Stop making me shrug." Then he saw the expression on Edgeworth's face and hastily added, "I'm just kidding. Seriously, I'm okay. You really feel that bad about it?"

"Of course," Edgeworth snapped, surprised at how angry the question had made him. "I'm not the man I used to be, Wright. Thanks to me you were shot point-blank in the chest with a large-caliber pistol and could scarcely breathe or move or talk for three weeks. And I couldn't even get to the hospital to see you more than three or four times, much less apologize, thanks to what must be the most ridiculously overloaded federal docket in the country. Yes, I genuinely felt bad about it."

Despite his best efforts (and to his great dismay) he had to turn his head away, tears clinging to his eyelashes. He inhaled mightily, trying to control the tightness in his throat at the memories. That first visit had been the worst day in recent memory; Maya had been with Wright nonstop since returning from Kurain, so she was totally unaffected by his dropping two stone in a week. But Edgeworth hadn't realized just how quickly ICU patients tended to lose weight. It had been like visiting a stranger: a silent, barely responsive, cadaverous stranger who had stolen his best friend's face.

His hand was squeezed abruptly, and Edgeworth looked back at Wright. The other man looked pained, but in his usual sheepish kind of way, color flooding his cheeks. "Miles... I know there's no winning this battle of guilt with you. I can only say 'I forgive you' so many times. So here's the deal." He raised a sly eyebrow. "Make it up to me."

Edgeworth was just opening his mouth to ask how, when he realized what Wright was implying. "O-oh..." he said, unsteadily. But after a moment he shifted closer, slid his arm around the other man's shoulders: he could feel every bone in Wright's thin body, especially his collarbones. Those brown eyes were so close, exhausted yet yearning toward him.

"You have no idea," Wright said longingly, "how much I've wanted to lay my head on someone's shoulder and sleep. Really. Especially your shoulder."

"Then do it," Edgeworth answered, but quietly. He wondered if Maya was ever coming back. If she did right now, she might be in for a shock. He leaned over and pressed his lips gently to Wright's. It was a short kiss, but intimate.

They sat for awhile, hands entwined, the Steel Samurai and the Evil Magistrate still silently duking it out before them onscreen. Wright did eventually lay his head on Edgeworth's shoulder. It felt strange, considering his customary spikes had long been missing: his hair was quite soft and brushy when left to its own devices.

Edgeworth said at long last, "Do you really want to know the worst part?"

"Mm-hmm," was the answer: sleepy, but not yet truly insensible.

"It was..." Edgeworth started, then paused for a minute to think. He would only be half-lying: the worst part had really been all the predictions made by the doctors, that Wright would spend the rest of his life on a ventilator, paralysed, or mentally impaired. Edgeworth hated doctors, especially when they made poor Maya come to his office crying twice a week. His own doctor, for the first time since von Karma's execution, had suggested that Edgeworth go back on his antidepressants.

He shook himself, and said, "It was knowing that if you died... that you'd do it thinking you were unappreciated by everyone, including your friends. Feeling that all you ever did in life was be mocked... and... and..."

"Take shit from everyone?" Wright said, but with a hint of a laugh.

Edgeworth sighed. "Yes."

Wright shifted a little, hips and skinny knees pressing against his. "I know this is going to be hard to believe, but... I'm a defense attorney. Have been for awhile now. I'm built to be kicked around, and I don't even mind it anymore."

"Even when it's Maya and me?" Edgeworth said softly, almost ashamed to ask.

"_Especially_ when it's you and Maya. Miles, I would've thought I was joking, too. And you two wouldn't make fun of me if you didn't like me."

Two words trembled on the tip of Edgeworth's tongue: _love you_, he wanted desperately to say in correction. It would be no more than the truth. He hadn't realized it until he was standing beside Wright's hospital bed at three in the morning: but he loved him more than anyone he'd ever loved before. More than his own father... more than Franziska.

Fortunately, the door behind them slammed open, and he was spared the agonizing choice of blurting it out. "I'm back!" announced Maya. "Nick, are you asleep? Well, you won't be pretty soon. Hi, Miles!"

Edgeworth had one brief moment of somewhat melancholy satisfaction—to reflect that she had gone back to calling him by his first name—before she rounded the couch, arms loaded with paper grocery bags, and he saw her face. Maya wasn't terribly good at hiding her emotions, and in fact had never successfully done so in his presence. The expression on her face, when she saw them cuddling together, was one of absolute and complete glee.

She noticed that he'd seen, and cleared her throat, attempting to drop an expression of great dignity over her own features. But the grin remained. "Aww, you two are so sweet you're giving me cavities. Nick! Wake up! Burger time!"

"Maya," Wright said, his voice vibrating against Edgeworth's arm, "I am not taking you out for burgers. Make Edgeworth go with you."

Maya sighed, rolling her eyes entirely for Edgeworth's benefit. He had to smile. "Not going _out_, dummy! I brought the ingredients back from the grocery store. I can cook, you know. So wake up—burgers! Cheeseburgers in paradise!" She set down one of the bags on the coffee table, and whipped a bag of cheese slices from the other, waving it in their faces. "_Cheese!"_

The image was so cheerfully ludicrous that Wright finally lifted his head from Edgeworth's shoulder, laughing; Edgeworth found himself chuckling, too.

"Okay, okay," Wright said, sighing dramatically. "Let's see what the famous Maya Burger tastes like."

* * *

"I guess we should wake him up," Maya whispered, taking a swig of soda, her eyes on Wright.

"What for?" Edgeworth asked. Wright was dead asleep, leaned into Edgeworth's arms, the most enviably dreamy expression on his face. Dinner had been a festive occasion: Maya had turned out to be a good grillmeister, and the remnants of sandwiches, pop cans, and a batch of cupcakes that Edgeworth had hastily whipped up were strewn around the kitchen

Maya shrugged. "Gotta get him to bed somehow. The doctor said he'd kill me if I let Nick sleep on the sofa."

_So don't tell him_, Edgeworth was tempted to say. But instead he reached out, placing his own plate on the coffee table. "It's his first night home. I'll get him into the bedroom."

Maya smiled: it wasn't her usual over-the-top grin, but a sweet, thankful smile. She reached over and brushed hair off Wright's forehead, and said, "I'm so happy you're here, Miles. He needs you."

He opened his mouth to argue, but she beat him to it. "I know. He needs me, too. But I'm _always_ here. With you here, it's just..." She paused, face in a moue as she pondered. Then at last she shrugged, rising from the sofa with that same sweet smile. "Better."

Edgeworth felt his cheeks flaming, and his heart burned with the same impotent mixture of shame and guilt and embarrassment that he always felt around Maya. They never bothered fighting for Wright's affections, but it always seemed like he won anyway. And, of course, she never noticed that he minded: just cheerfully went on her way, as she was doing now. He heard the clink of dishes as she started tidying up.

He shucked his suit jacket and carried Wright into the dark bedroom. It wasn't that much work, considering how skinny his friend was in proportion to his height. As he lowered Wright onto the bed, those brown eyes opened again, the familiar sheepish smile appearing.

"Thanks," he said sleepily.

Edgeworth leaned down one last time and kissed him. Wright reached up and grabbed his cravat, tried to make the kiss last longer. Edgeworth pulled away, detaching his fingers and laughing. "No. Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," Wright murmured quietly. In a few moments he was lightly snoring again, face slack.

Edgeworth went back out into the kitchen, and neatly rolled up his sleeves. "You wash, I dry?" said Maya. She had stacked all the dishes, and was wiggling her eyebrows. She hated dishes, and he knew she would run off to clean something else before long.

"Exactly," he answered with a smile, and reached for the soap.

As they stood next to each other and talked, at first about Wright but soon on other topics, he wondered if it was enough. He supposed it would have to be.

* * *

As mentioned on bludhavens, will add more fluff to the end if requested.


	5. Recovering

More squishiness written at the request of the same anon. Set a week or two after the last chapter.

* * *

Edgeworth was calmly measuring ground espresso from a jar when Wright tossed his cell phone on the coffee table, collapsing sideways on the sofa. "So, that was my insurance company," he said with a sigh, voice muffled under his arm. "They just got the last bill from the hospital... I hit their ceiling limit for coverage."

"Hmm."

"Yeah," was the wry response. "They said they can only cover only the emergency room visit, the surgeries, and anything from my GP. I guess I'll be paying all the specialized treatments and outpatient therapy out-of-pocket."

Edgeworth paused to look at Wright; he was tempted to hedge the subject, but it was time he confessed. And besides that, Wright looked utterly miserable, almost as if he were about to cry. Edgeworth had never wanted for money (in fact, he'd always had more than he needed) and could only vaguely imagine the agonies of facing bankruptcy. "Don't worry about it," he said. "Neither you nor your insurance will need to cover anything."

Wright lifted his head and stared as Edgeworth tapped the excess grounds from the spoon, rolled the bag closed, and opened the refrigerator to pull out a gallon of milk. "Why not?"

"The hospital has been paid. Your insurance will hear from them in another day or two," Edgeworth said, trying unsuccessfully to be casual. He poured milk into the steaming carafe: espresso this late at night was usually a very bad idea, but he'd found a very nice decaf blend at a coffee bistro nearby, and thought perhaps Wright would enjoy the treat. "Don't worry about it."

"Wait, who paid them?" Wright demanded. He levered himself up on the sofa, eyes narrowed. "Edgeworth..."

Edgeworth sighed, and capped the milk. He stuck it back into the refrigerator, and turned to look straight in Wright's eyes. "I did. And before you get all offended, Maya helped."

Wright's mouth fell open; Edgeworth had a moment to remark to himself that it was sort of a cute expression, before Wright thundered, "She did _what_? Edgeworth, I—I can't pay you back! Not until I finish another case, at least!"

"Don't be a fool," Edgeworth said, probably more coldly than was necessary, plugging the espresso machine in and flipping on the pressure switch. He'd anticipated that this conversation would be ridiculous, but wished Maya were here to at least back him up. "The state of California owes you already for taking so many _pro bono_ cases on behalf of the innocent. Consider it compensation by proxy. There's no need for repayment."

"Bullshit! You just made that up!" Wright accused. He stood up, somewhat unsteadily, and Edgeworth eyed him as he crossed the living room and came into the kitchenette. "Is this still about blaming yourself?"

His silence must have been a confirmation. Wright leaned on the counter, his thin hands spread for balance. "Edgeworth," he said desperately. "You can't just... I mean, it wasn't your fault. You didn't owe me anything."

"Which is exactly what Maya said when I suggested it," Edgeworth answered. He moved to stand next to Wright, at least half because it appeared he was about to fall over. "But she quite reasonably came around when I reminded her that I happen to have money, and you don't. You would be sending your next twenty-five client checks straight to the hospital, whereas I had immediately available capital."

"But that's not the point—"

"I know it's not," Edgeworth said, cutting him off. He put an arm around Wright's waist. "Would you please sit back down before you fall down?" Wright rolled his eyes, but heaved a sigh and let Edgeworth help him back to the couch.

Sitting down next him, Edgeworth said, "It isn't about what I owe you, or whether it was my fault you were hurt. We're past that now. This is..." He suddenly realized how difficult it would be to explain his reasons. How had Maya so immediately understood?

He reached for and found Wright's hand, unable to meet the other man's gaze as he explained, "You probably don't understand how much you mean to me. It's the same for Maya. You believed in us when no one else did."

"But—"

"I _know_," Edgeworth said firmly. Wright stared at him helplessly; again Edgeworth wondered how he could possibly convey his point of view. Was it about love? Probably... but that would be even harder to explain. "I know you helped us _because_ you believed in us, not because we could or would ever repay you. Give me at least some credit, Phoenix. You hate money. Which is why I know it would offend you to be financially dependent on anyone."

Wright opened his mouth, as if to protest, then made a face. "Yeah."

"Well, you're not." Edgeworth squeezed his hand. A brilliant idea occurred to him. "Consider it bail. It wouldn't be the first time I've spent money to set a friend at liberty."

Reluctantly and a bit wanly, Wright smiled. Maya, getting herself held in contempt of court so Edgeworth's trial could go on. And it was a better analogy than anything else, if somewhat disparate in cost: both had been one-time payments which Edgeworth had been more than happy to pay.

"Maybe," he added quietly, "I was happy to pay some of your debts because I consistently get the feeling that it's all I _can_ do for you."

"What?" Wright said, surprised. "Miles, are you serious?"

Edgeworth shrugged uncomfortably, shifting. "Well, I couldn't even be there when you were in the hospital. Maya's been with you nonstop ever since... even Pearl has been coming all the way from Hazakura once a week..."

"Stop!" Wright exclaimed, and as Edgeworth finally met his gaze, he realized that the other man was upset. "Just stop right there! You can't possibly feel that way."

Edgeworth couldn't answer; he just shrugged again. He realized that, to a certain extent, he _did_ feel that way. But it seemed insulting to say it aloud. He knew Wright liked him, and held particular affections for him, but beyond that... "I'm rarely here," he said at last, weakly. "I don't contribute anything."

It was Wright's turn to sigh in exasperation now; but his cheeks were flaming red. "I guess I'm rotten at expressing myself," he muttered, and took a deep breath. "Miles, you're... you... I mean, you're as important to me as Maya. Or anybody. And that's not even the important part. I wasn't—"

He swallowed, stopping so suddenly that Edgeworth wondered if something was wrong. Then Wright looked down at their linked hands, and said softly, "It did cross my mind a few times that I might die." There was a long pause, and Edgeworth remembered how frightened he had been that first night. "I kept slipping in and out of unconsciousness, and all I could remember was that I'd been shot. It didn't really scare me, to think I might die. That mostly just annoyed me. But I remember feeling bad for you guys, thinking that you were probably angry and sad, and the whole time I just wanted to..."

He stopped again, and this time he raised Edgeworth's hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to it. His words were murmured against Edgeworth's skin, eyes half-closed. "All I could think of was you. Not Maya, because even though she's like the little sister I never had... she'd get by somehow. She would have her village, and Pearls."

Wright looked up, and Edgeworth felt the secret parts of his soul shriveling under that earnest brown gaze. "But you... I know you have Franziska, too, but it's not the same. Am I... is this insulting?"

Slowly, haltingly, Edgeworth shook his head. "No. Not at all." His heart had begun to race wildly, and he closed his eyes to say it. "I have no idea what I would have done if you had died. You're... really all I have to love."

He was just about to open his eyes again, to see what Wright's reaction had been, when he felt the other man's lips on his. A hand slipped behind his head, and the kiss suddenly became passionate. Some little voice in the back of his head wondered if this was real, while his baser instincts had him riveted by the soft yet warm and utterly electrifying sensation of the kiss. He flicked his tongue over Wright's lips, pressing harder until their noses met, breath exploding on their cheeks.

Suddenly Wright broke away, literally gasping for breath. "Sorry," he said, and coughed, clutching his chest. "Augh... I shouldn't have... well, I should've, but... sorry."

Edgeworth hated to see him in pain: in fact, it almost made him queasy with fear, and he said nothing, just rubbed Wright's back as he coughed spastically. After a minute or so, Wright raised his head and said roughly, "I'm okay. Whew. Sorry, that's a really awkward way to end a kiss, isn't it?"

Unable to keep from laughing, Edgeworth leaned over and pulled Wright toward him gently. They settled back together, and he wrapped his arms around his friend. "No. And in any case... it's an unutterable relief to know that you understand."

"I guess," was the somewhat grumbling response.

"Maya helped," Edgeworth said, indignantly. "She understood perfectly, to the point where she would steal the bills from your mailbox and bring them to me at my office. And although she argued at first, it was only because she knew you would be mad."

Wright chuckled, quietly enough that it didn't start another coughing fit. "No one ever cares if I'm going to get mad."

Edgeworth, affectionately pressing his cheek into the top of Wright's still-soft head, suddenly remembered that he'd left the espresso machine plugged in. He groaned: all of a sudden he had no interest in making cappuccinos, but presumably the machine was still pressuring.

"What?"

"I left the espresso machine on and have no desire to explode your kitchen. I'll be back in a minute," Edgeworth said. He helped Wright sit back up, and hurried into the kitchenette. Frowning at the machine, wishing there was a way to just shut it off, he flicked the switch back to the coffee setting. It began pouring the espresso, dark and caramelly. "Do you want a cappuccino or a macchiato?" he called into the living room, resigned.

"Whatever," came the response, obviously spoken in the middle of a cavernous yawn.

Quickly, Edgeworth steamed the milk in the pitcher. It only took a minute or two, but every second he was alone seemed to tick by loudly, his heart still pounding uncontrollably from the kiss. He poured the milk, slipped the espresso shots into it, and carried the two macchiatos back into the living room.

_Too late_, he thought resignedly, but he couldn't help but smile as he set the cups on the coffee table. Wright had dropped off, his head tilted into the side of the couch and his mouth open just a little as he slept. Edgeworth felt his heart wrench, and thought in astonishment, _I really am in love_.


	6. Unity

A/N. The last of the cavity-inducing cuteness. Writing fluff is _so much fun_ once you already have the story base, guys...

* * *

In that case, he had to assume responsibility. "Wake up, Phoenix." Sitting down, he touched Wright's face; his friend yawned, blinking at him. "You haven't taken the last of your medication."

"Nooo... sleep now, meds later," was the deadpan response, as Wright closed his eyes again.

"No, right now," Edgeworth said firmly, taking his friend's arm. The bottles were scattered across the coffee table. He gathered them up and plunked them in Wright's hand. "Taking five minutes for this will not unduly interrupt your sleep."

Wright grinned, opened his eyes, and reluctantly sat up, yawning again. He peered at the bottles, held them out at arm's length. "Man... I don't even remember which ones are which. I'm gonna have to _think_, too." He pointed. "Grab my reading glasses, will you?"

Edgeworth's face must have shown his astonishment, because Wright said, rolling his eyes, "Yes, I need reading glasses. Have done since first year of law school, when all that reading destroyed my near vision. Now would you—? Thank you." Edgeworth reached out and snagged the black frames; he tried to repress a smile as Wright slipped them on, looking rather like a mad scientist.

Wright glanced at him sideways. "Oh, shut up."

"I said nothing," Edgeworth protested. "They're... they're very academic-looking. Intellectual."

"What, intelligence as opposed to my usual dull stare?" Wright's tone was amused, carrying no bite. He squinted at the bottles, hesitantly began to open one. "I think I take two of these... maybe only one...?"

"Only one," Edgeworth said, able to read the bottle from where he was sitting. He wondered if Wright was making a production out of this on purpose, but could see no reason to let him overdose on Vicodin if he were really this confused.

He took the bottles back. "Here," he said. It took only a moment to shake out the correct proportions; Edgeworth tried not to look at the labels themselves, depressed to see just how many painkillers and muscle relaxants Wright was still taking. He reached over for a glass of water, sitting on the side table. "Just take them, and then you can go to bed."

Wright wordlessly obeyed, and Edgeworth realized that his words may have come across as annoyed. Unsure how to explain that they'd been sharp from worry, he put his hand on Wright's shoulder, let the hand slide down his back. "I... I apologize. You're tired."

"Yeah, but so what," Wright said, setting the glass on the coffee table, between the demitasses. He raised a hand to his temples, grimacing. "Just another reason that it's an awful good thing you're here—I'm still too dizzy and stupid to manage taking my pills. I'd probably forget altogether if no one were here, or end up overdosing."

Rather than alleviating Edgeworth's nervousness, Wright's awareness of the danger made him even more worried. But he took a deep breath and let it go. There would be someone with Wright around the clock for at least a couple of weeks: Maya was in Kurain tonight, but she would be back tomorrow. And this cycle of medication would be downgraded in several days.

"Here's to hoping you forget altogether instead of overdosing," he said. "I would wager you prefer pain over incoherence." Or worse, but he wasn't about to say that.

Wright smiled crookedly, his eyes closed. "You're right. This is awful: it makes me think of defending Maggey for the first time, when I couldn't even remember my own name."

Edgeworth chuckled, remembering Maya's grandiose telling of the story. "Only you could be hit over the head with a fire extinguisher and suffer no more than a couple hours of memory loss." He felt a sudden welling of love and grippingly fierce affection for Wright, who always managed to emerge from terrible situations fresh as a daisy. Edgeworth had no doubt that before long, Wright would be running around with Maya and Gumshoe again, getting into trouble and putting himself in harm's way to save his defendants.

He put his arm around Wright. "Come on. Ready to sleep?"

"Ye-es," Wright moaned dramatically. Edgeworth helped him to his feet, and they made their way into the main bedroom. He was staying the night, since by a fortuitous chance he had no trial or meetings in the morning, and could drive Wright to his outpatient rehabilitation.

He flicked the bedside lamp on, glad to see that Maya had tidied up somewhat. "Do you, um..." Edgeworth had gotten used to asking personal questions, but he still drew up short every once in awhile. "What do you usually... wear?"

Wright laughed as he eased down to the bed. "Whatever's under my clothes. Just like most self-respecting bachelors."

"I see," Edgeworth said stiffly, making Wright snort with further laughter. Was he the only man in the world who kept his apartment clean and wore pajamas? There had to be others. Still, it wouldn't surprise him at all if Wright slept in the buff. "Well, I'll... be in the next room if you need anything."

Wright's laughter trailed off, his expression becoming serious. He looked up somewhat plaintively. "Are you sure?"

Miles Edgeworth felt his body completely freeze, just as his mind began racing. If he weren't misinterpreting... Wright was asking him to sleep together. This was the first time he'd ever had such an offer made to him, and he felt completely helpless to respond.

"But—you—" he sputtered, aware of just how stupid he probably sounded. Taking a deep breath, he said, "But won't it... bother you?"

Wright's expression grew unmistakably exasperated, although he appeared ready to keel over from exhaustion at any second. "Miles, you just _cuddled_ with me out on the sofa. What's the difference in here?" He paused. "Or does it offend you to share my bed?"

"N-no," Edgeworth faltered, feeling his cheeks flame. "I just... you're sick..." What was _wrong_ with him? He wanted nothing more than to lie down next to Wright, to put his arms around him and sleep peacefully for the first time in years.

"I am not," said Wright firmly, obviously trying not to laugh, "and I'm _really_ not making any propositions. I guarantee I'm not up to that sort of thing. And... right now I'm going to lie down before I fall off the bed and hit my head. Maybe I am sick." He closed his eyes, obviously dizzy.

Edgeworth immediately moved forward, sitting down and helping Wright lie back. His mind whirled furiously, his whole body yearning toward the other half of the bed. His hands, against his own will, lingered on Wright's vulnerable head and shoulders, cradling them safely. And suddenly, as he looked down at Wright's exhausted face, everything became clear. "I'll stay," he said softly.

* * *

A few minutes later, having turned out the lights and neatly placed his own clothing on a nearby chair, he slid under the covers. Everything was foreign: the thread count and material of the sheets, the fat polyester pillows, the total darkness of the room (his own bedroom window faced the street), the fact that he was wearing almost nothing... as he inched over and found someone else's skin there, he had to keep from gasping at the strangeness.

"Try not to panic," said Wright, and yawned monstrously. His hand came around the back of Edgeworth's right arm and slid down it, to link their hands. "Isn't this much nicer than squashing into Maya's fluffy little bed?"

Edgeworth, feeling a little hysterical, cleared his throat. He'd planned to sleep on the couch, not in Maya's bed, but that wouldn't have been any more comfortable. "Yes. Yes, much."

Hesitantly, he slid a little closer, until his chest was lightly touching Wright's back and he could set his chin on the other man's shoulder. "So warm," Wright murmured happily. He sounded mostly asleep already.

Edgeworth realized that his arm was all the way around Wright's chest, his hand resting on the lower left ribs; that odd, rough patch of skin must be... He jerked his hand away, a little frightened.

"Don't worry," Wright said after a moment. His head turned in the darkness, such that Edgeworth could feel their breath colliding as he spoke. "It's all healed over. The one in back is much bigger... I guess what they say about exit wounds is true."

Unable to speak for a moment, Edgeworth finally managed to say, "He... he aimed a little low."

"Mmm-hmm," was the yawned response. Edgeworth could feel their noses practically touching. "He was standing over me... maybe he was aiming for my stomach instead of my heart." There was a pause, and Wright added slyly, "He wouldn't have hit my heart anyway... it's been in my throat for awhile now."

It was such a bad joke that Edgeworth almost didn't understand: when he finally realized what Wright meant, it was like someone had grabbed his heart and crushed it, his own feelings throbbing wildly all though his own chest.

"I..." He almost blurted the words out, but cut himself off.

The ensuing pause lasted so long that Wright said, quietly, "Yes?"

The thoughts finally coalesced, and he said slowly, "Facing your death... holding you in my arms... knowing how much you mean to me... they're just catalysts. A truth I locked up inside long ago is out now."

He tightened his arms around the other man, so scared to continue that he could barely hear himself speak for the blood pounding in his ears. "Phoenix... I love you."

Wright was only silent for a few seconds, but in the breathtakingly tense darkness, it felt like forever. At last he sniffled and said affectionately, "That was a very sweet and eloquent way of saying that you've loved me for a long time."

He kissed Edgeworth again, and sniffled once more. "Thank you. I love you too, Miles—so much that it breaks my heart."

They said nothing else, just shifted even closer together in the cosy blackness of the room, so that his thighs pressed into the backs of Wright's scrawny legs, and nothing separated them. Wright was soon asleep: Edgeworth could tell by his breathing, which was finally soft and without struggle. But he didn't mind being awake by himself.

In the last few moments before the exhaustion of the last few weeks won over and he drifted off, Miles realized that from that point on, his fate was more entwined with Wright's than ever before. _What a blissful thought_.


End file.
